Shared a Cab
by Heimeldat
Summary: Just a bit from the end of "God Complex," converting video to prose in an attempt to learn how to write the Doctor.


I'm working on a Doctor Who story, and I just rewatched "The God Complex" in preparation and wrote out the last scene of the episode in prose form to help me get a better sense of the Doctor's body language and speech patterns. It's not exactly a story, since it's pretty much exactly what's already on screen, but I was rather pleased with how it came out, so here it is if anyone's interested. Hopefully, I'll soon start publishing a real story which begins immediately after this scene.

All rights belong to the BBC and so forth. Not stealing, just having fun.

...

"So, you're leaving, aren't you?" said Amy.

"You haven't seen the last of me. Bad penny is my middle name." The Doctor gave her a joking little smirk. "Seriously. The looks I get when I fill in a form…" The joke fell flat. His voice trailed off, and the amusement dropped off his face as Amy looked steadily at him.

"Why now?" she asked after a moment.

He hesitated, gave her a sidelong look. "Because you're still…breathing." The last word came out painfully, a confession of one of his most enduring fears. He gave a bitter little smile and looked down at his lap.

He felt Amy searching for a reply, and of course she went for the joke: "Well, I think this is about the washing up, personally."

"Hah," he said, with another bit of smile, and then for a second they were both laughing, but it wasn't funny.

The Doctor pushed away from the car and walked away from Amy, back toward the TARDIS, rubbing and clasping his hands in front of him. He really wasn't good at good-byes. "I mean, you're right," he said. "There's still heaps of stuff out there to look at." He whirled before he reached the TARDIS and pointed at Amy and spread his arms. "Do you know, there's a planet out there whose name literally translates 'volatile surface.' " His hands rose to either side to frame the name.

Amy laughed.

The Doctor stepped into the doorway of the TARDIS, then paused and turned halfway back toward her, and found himself licking his lips as if he was nervous. That didn't happen often. Then the uncertain instant was gone, and he pressed on. "Or maybe there's a bigger, scarier adventure waiting for you in there."

Amy glanced away, toward the house, and she did look a bit scared. "Even so," she said, jerking her attention back to the Doctor. She stood up, arms crossed protectively over herself. "It can't happen like this. After everything we've been through, Doctor…" Her voice faded to a whisper. "Everything." She forced a smile, then kept speaking, quickly and sharply. "You can't just drop me off at my house and say good-bye like we shared a cab." She stepped forward.

The Doctor didn't draw away, let her meet him in the middle of the road. He looked into her eyes for a long second, then shook his head a little. "And what's the alternative?" he asked softly. "Me standing over your grave?" He pressed his lips together, defying that possibility, then kept talking, more emphatically, though still quietly. "Over your broken body, over Rory's body." He kept looking at her for another moment, willing her to understand, then dropped his gaze away from her and shook his head.

Amy reached out suddenly and pulled him into a hug. Her chin came to rest on his shoulder and her hand rubbed gently against his back. For an instant the Doctor resisted, then relaxed and let his hands close around her back. Strands of her hair slid under his fingers. He stared over her shoulder at things that hadn't happened yet, things he couldn't do anything about.

Amy's other hand curled up around the back of his head, and she stroked his hair, a comforting, motherly sort of motion that brought her hand to rest on the back of his neck.

He needed it. He didn't like needing comfort. He was the one who comforted humans. But he couldn't object this time. The Doctor closed his eyes, squeezed them tightly shut, and let his forehead fall forward against Amy's shoulder.

Her hand tightened against his back, and her fingernails scraped across the weave of his jacket as her fingers curled together into a fist. She let out a sharp little breath that he only heard because her mouth was an inch from his ear, then pushed him away and rested her hands on his shoulders, examining him. She smiled. "If you bump into my daughter, tell her to visit her old mum sometime."

He smiled back. He doubted he'd see River again until the end. But he dipped his chin in the hint of a nod, then glanced over Amy's shoulder, indicating the car, the house, Rory. "And look after him," he said.

"Look after you," she said softly.

He gave her a halfway sort of wink and smile, dipped his head again in something that might have been a nod, and Amy leaned forward and planted a kiss on his forehead. He stared at the ground and pressed his lips together hard. He never cried.

He drew a deep breath and looked up at her, managed the ghost of a smile, then turned away with his head bowed and his hands in his pockets and walked slowly back to the TARDIS.

He couldn't resist pausing and looking back one more time in the doorway, on the doorstep of adventure. That thought pulled a real smile onto his face, just for an instant, the wide smile that made Amy call him a madman, and she chuckled at the sight of it.

That was enough to make him lose the smile. He hastily looked away again, trying to find somewhere to rest his eyes, and raised one hand in an awkward wave. Terrible at good-byes, always had been. He gave Amy one last sidelong smile, and saw her waving back at him, her lips moving in the word, "Bye," too quiet for him to hear.

He turned away, into the TARDIS, and shut the door and resisted the urge to look back just one more time. He leapt up the stairs three at a time and slammed his hand down on the dematerialisation control. There, he did it. He said good-bye. Saved her.

The Doctor realised he had been standing there for a while, staring into the distance through the rising and falling whorls of glass in the centre column. His hands had fallen still, pressed flat against the console. He bowed his head and stared down at the blank yellow surface between his fingers. He already missed Amy's voice.

He glanced sideways, as if expecting to see her beside him, but of course the console room was empty. Huge and empty. He turned further, looking around searchingly, with one hand still pressed to the console and the other curled close against his body. For once he wasn't sure what to do with his hands, didn't have any sweeping gestures to make. He couldn't resist finishing the turn, sweeping his eyes around the entire room, just to be sure he was really alone.

Then he leaned back against the console, bringing his hands together in front of him. One hand folded around the other, toying with his knuckles. He stared down at the blank glass floor in front of his feet. "Well, old girl," he said softly. "I guess it's just you and me again."


End file.
